Simple Past
by Mikiya2200
Summary: Tag to DSOTM - My take on where the amulet ended up. - 2nd chapter: Tag to SS. - Complete
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Okay, so this is a tag to DSOTM, yet another amulet-story. I've tried to stay clear of them, think I've read one, maybe two and although they were really, really good they all came down to Sam getting sentimental and desperate. I don't see that, not with the following episodes and how Sam developed during this season.

There is a second part to this which will be posted as soon as it is finished (either this night or tomorrow night).

Let me know what you think about this, I'd love to have some feedback.

Awesome speed-beta by **Ghost**. Thanks a LOT for everything! *hugs* And I am sorry for making you mad at him. I really am. I guess. Hehehe… ;)

* * *

**Simple Past**

By Mikiya

_I've lied to you  
The same way that I always do  
This is the last smile  
That I'll fake for the sake_ _of being with you_

Linkin Park, "Pushing me away"

No.

No.

NO!

No _fucking_ way.

This is NOT how this is going to end. You are not walking out on me—on _us_—like this, Dean, I won't allow it.

I screwed up. I screwed up, okay? I don't know _how_, I don't know why you're blaming me for what we saw up there, but I get it, you're mad at me.

And you know what? Screw you!

It wasn't my fault, not this time! I couldn't control that stuff anymore than you could. They—Zach, the angels, _whoever_— were playing with our heads. Again. How can you not see that?

Yeah, those were my memories and yes, I _was _happy in them. I _was _having a good time, a really, really good time. I _was_ happy to have Bones, even for a few days, it _was_ a great Thanksgiving I had with the other family, and I _was_ so glad to get away from Dad and start my own life that night.

_Was_. Simple Past. Used for actions beginning _and ending_ in the past. Completed actions, like not relevant anymore.

That's not who I am now— I've changed. Grown up. Left all that stuff behind me and started a new life. A life that includes you, dickhead. It revolves around you in a way that should probably make me feel uncomfortable or dependent.

Which it does.

Sometimes.

But I don't care, this is what I want, this is what I choose. I left you behind a long time ago, but now… Right now I'm here, Dean, right next to you, trying to make up for a lot of wrongs I've done in my life. And I'm not talking about starting this end-of-the-world-nightmare.

Do you even know what makes me happy _today_? What is important for me _now_? Bet you never think about that, huh? Not that I'm blaming you or anything…

Well, not much anyway.

Whatever.

So, you're walking out on me, after everything; after all the shit we've been through? So not going to happen, Dean.

… _and you're losing faith, in yourself, your brother…_

In heaven, when Joshua said that… there was this moment where I wished he would have just hit me or stuck one of those angel-killing swords in me, 'cause that couldn't have hurt worse than those words. I know they're true, I know this is what you think, what you feel. And man, it _hurts_. You're really losing faith in me, in us. Team Free Will doesn't mean much to you anymore. I know that and I try not to be angry at you for that, I really do.

But I'm still here and I'm not leaving, not this time. I'm not losing faith, not in you, Dean, not ever in you.

I know you're waiting outside, I can see the car from where I'm still standing in the middle of the room. I know you know I've seen you toss your amulet into the trashcan. You are giving up on it, on _us_, on everything. I get that.

And, _fuck_, YES it hurts, more than I can say.

But I know how to stop it. I know how to make a step in the right direction, I know how to make you see. Maybe not believe me… or believe _in_ me, but you'll see.

It's been a while since I've touched the damned thing and as soon as I fish it out of the trash the familiar weight of it has me flashing back to how I sat staring at it for hours before I could work up enough courage to take it off of you and place it around my neck. I didn't want to take it from you before I buried yo—_your body_, but I just couldn't leave it with you in that cold gr-grav—earth.

I gave it back to you the night you came back to life… back to me, and I never ever wanted to see it anywhere but around your neck. And then you let Cas take it away to search for God. Well, we all know now how that played out, huh?

So, maybe it really is worthless as a God-EMF, maybe it doesn't burn in the presence of the Lord. It probably isn't worth more than the 3.75 I saved from my pocket money and made Bobby take in exchange for it. But it still means something.

It means everything. _Everything_.

To me.

I step out of the room, close the door behind me and there you are, leaning against the Impala's side, face turned up into the sunlight. As if you didn't just turn your back on _everything, _as if you didn't just basically disown our childhood—

As if you didn't just leave me in a way I would never have been able to leave you.

_Breathe, Sam, suck it up, burry it, don't let it out._

You don't look at me when I drag my duffel to the trunk, and when I slam it shut you're already behind the wheel. Avoiding me. You're not dealing with me, with what I might have to say about everything, you simply turn your back on me, shutting me out. Been there, done that, it never helps.

Fine.

Have it your way then.

But I'm not letting you out of this that easily, not this time.

I take a deep breath and get into the car. Before I can say anything—not that I would, mind you—the music's turned on and that's as good as any _'Shut up, Sam'_ you could growl at me. I don't care, driver picks the music, this shotgun shuts his cakehole, copy that.

It's not like I need to be able to say anything for this.

I wait until we're on the highway, until I feel your attention is no longer solely focused on the road. When I can see you relax a little into your seat I make my move: I open the glove box and then my right hand, making sure you glance over at least once, that you realize just what I am holding. I don't need to look at you to see you tense when you finally do see it. I have to fight not to let my lips widen into the satisfied grin that wants to spread across my face when I put the amulet into the glove box and then close it.

No fucking way is this the last you've heard of this, Dean. I'm not giving up on us, on _you_. Not ever.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Okay, this is... so not what I was going to write when I started the first chapter. I swear this chapter is cursed, first I couldn't find the right point of view for it, then said point of view didn't want to talk and finally he didn't do as I told him. I'm not really sure if you're going to hate me for it and I'm definitely not following fanon with this piece (you'll understand after reading this) but this is the only way I could finish it. Please, PLEASE let me know what you think about it.

This isn't betaed and I really think if I don't post it now I'll probably never do it so... if anything major catches your eyes let me know. :)

Dedicated to **Ghost **for being the awesome person that she is and my best friend who helped me out when I was ready to just throw it away 'cause HE just wouldn't behave...

**Disclaimer:** I definitely DO NOT own Dean Winchester (and I thank every God (pagan or Christian) I know for that!) and everything you might recognize from the show does not belong to me but to somebody else.

What the he** is wrong with this site and formatting? Whatever I try it doesn't let me insert characters to show where a scene ends. I hope it works out somehow and you're not too confused... Cursed, this chapter really is cursed...

* * *

The Impala's hinges groan softly as he opens the door and slides in behind the wheel. It's a familiar sound, should feel comforting, soothing maybe.

But it doesn't, not really.

He ignores that, ignores the flash of guilt that's choking him for a moment when he realizes that his baby seems to have lost her magic, she doesn't _feel_ right, not like herself anymore. And he ignores that, too, runs his hand lovingly over the dashboard as if to prove to himself that there is still _something_ there.

There isn't.

"Okay, listen…"

His voice sounds strange in the silence of the car, too rusty, unused. The words catch in his throat almost before they make it over his lips and he suddenly jerks upright in his seat, pulls his hand back.

"This isn't going to work."

The hinges groan in protest when he pushes the door open, but he doesn't stop, doesn't look back.

* * *

"I'm sorry."

She doesn't respond. Of course not, she never does, not with words anyway.

* * *

He doesn't know how long he has been sitting there, inside the car, with the radio playing softly in the background.

His voice still isn't quite what it used to be, too scratchy, maybe even hoarse, but he gets the words out this time.

"Look, man, I tried, I really did…"

He studies his hands, they look different.

"I don't think I can do it."

Not different, normal. Not wrapped around a gun or a spray can to paint a devil's trap on the floor, not even holding a box of salt to ward a room.

"I don't know why, I—she—Lisa, she's great, man, she really is… I mean, I don't really know why she puts up with me… being there and all that and—and Ben… He's awesome, you know?"

His gaze travels across the interior of the car, stops as it sets on the radio.

"He loves the music, he loves the car, he loves fast-food, practically _inhales_ the stuff if I don't stop him. He's like this Dr. Evil Mini-Me from Austin Powers, remember that?"

He chuckles softly, then reaches out and turns the radio off, listens into the silence for a moment.

"They're… they're great, Sam, and… and I get it now, why you wanted out… Stanford… that was your chance, man, and… I thought I could do this, you know? I thought this was it, this is what I wanted, this white-picket-fences-life and everything and… it's great, it really is—_they_ are great—"

He breaks off.

It's the last thing he says that night.

* * *

"I get why you… why you made me promise. You wanted to make sure I wasn't alone after you—and… and I know that I made you promise the same before I… _left_. That you would have someone to look after you and to care about you and… and everything…"

It's raining tonight, big drops of water hit the front shield where they dissolve into smaller drops and finally trickle down the glass. The streetlamp's light reflects in the tiny droplets and he watches them for a moment.

"Could have worked out, you know? I think if we'd just split up at some point, sworn off hunting for good and tried to make our own lives… I guess this would have been it, I could have done this…"

He shifts slightly.

"But not like this, not after everything that's happened."

His breathing hitches for a moment.

"Sammy, I can't do this."

He is whispering now, voice so low it's almost drowned out by the steady sound of rain pelting down on the window, the hood, the car…

"I've tried… But it's not fair, you know? It's not fair to them, I can never be who they want… what they need… not for the rest of my life…"

He stops.

The rain goes on.

* * *

It's still raining when he comes back the next night and he thinks that it fits his mood perfectly. He opens the door, gets in and just sits there for a long time, maybe minutes, maybe hours, he doesn't know. Doesn't really care.

He doesn't turn on the radio this night.

"Lisa is okay with it, you know? Already talked to her. She says I should do whatever makes me happy, she knows I'm not happy… here. And man, I feel bad for using her—them like this…"

He starts playing with the car keys, twisting them in his hands, over and over.

"Ben is mad at me. He doesn't want me to leave. Said I could have his Gameboy if that would make me happy. He even begged me to stay and… you know, for a moment I almost gave in. But I couldn't do it. And now he's mad at me, like _really_ mad. He doesn't want to talk to me, leaves the room whenever I show up. Lisa says he'll get over it and I know he will."

The keys make a soft sound.

"This is not who I am… this isn't who I want to be. And I… I'm sorry. I promised her I would stay until I fixed her car, it's the least I can do…"

It's still raining when he goes back into the house.

* * *

"The funny thing is… for the first time in my life I can choose what I want to do, you know? I can do what I want, go where I want, be what I want—_who_ I want to be."

The rain has finally stopped on the fourth day and now everything is wet and muddy. He looks down at his shoes and thinks that maybe he shouldn't have crossed the lawn to get to her.

"I'm a hunter, Sammy, I'll always be a hunter. I don't know if I would have chosen this life if I'd had the choice back then… probably not. But that doesn't matter, I'm choosing it _now_, I wanna do this. I'm good at it, I'm really, really good at it. And I know that. I can help people, make a difference. I'm not saving the world or anything—not this time, it won't make a difference in the grand scheme of things… but it is what I want."

A car drives down the street, its headlights cutting through the dark of the night. For a moment he sees his own eyes in the rear view mirror.

"I'm doing it for me this time. Not 'cause Dad told me to or to avenge Mom… not even 'cause I want to get the bastards that did this to you... to _us_. This isn't about our _family_ anymore—"

He breaks off when he realizes that _he_ is the only family there is left.

"Dammit…"

* * *

"I have no idea how to do this…"

He pulls the door close behind him and arranges himself wearily on the front seat. His head tilts back against the headrest and he closes his eyes for a moment. He doesn't open them when he finally speaks in a low voice.

"I've always been a team player… on the hunt… I can do it on my own, you know that… but I don't want to, still don't want to be alone. I need backup and before you get mad at me I… I _will_ look for… somebody to work together with, okay?"

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, eyes opening to a slit as he blinks tiredly.

"Was thinking about calling Bobby, maybe stay at his house for a while and think this over. Maybe even team up with him for a few hunts. I couldn't face him right after you—"

The words get stuck in his throat and he breaks off, moves his tired body until he rests more comfortably. He is silent for a long moment, watches the light outside the car dance across the grass.

"I can now… I think… I miss him. Haven't really heard of him in a long time. "

He leans over to the glove box on the other side of the front seat and opens it, starts rummaging around for some time. He finally pulls out a cell phone and starts to close the compartment, then suddenly goes very still.

"Son of a—"

He stares at something for a long time, then reaches for it and pulls a familiar necklace out of the glove box. His hand starts to tremble slightly but he doesn't seem to notice, his gaze is fixed on the brass amulet.

* * *

"Dude, I've been thinking…"

He stops, then chuckles softly, relaxing against the backrest for a moment.

"Man, I really wish I could see your face right now…"

He reaches over to the glove box, pulls the amulet out. His fingers start playing with it as he continues, in a soft, almost hesitant voice.

"I was going to put it back on the day I—_today_. I'm leaving, gonna stay with Bobby for a few days. I already said goodbye to Lisa and tried to talk to Ben, but he wouldn't see me…"

His gaze travels to a brown paper back on the passenger's seat, then back to the necklace.

"Listen, I'm not… I don't know how to tell you this—I can't. I can't put it on, not after… not after everything."

He swallows hard, winces as if the words cause him physical pain.

"I… I'm not mad at you, Sammy, I just… It doesn't feel right, you know? I'm not saying I'm never touching—_wearing_ it again but right now… right now I can't, I need to work this out, I need to—I need to understand what happened to us, what they did to us, what you—what _we_ did to ourselves…"

He breaks off again, runs a hand through his short hair tiredly.

"I need to work this out, I can't just put it back and pretend nothing's happened, if—_when_ I put it back I want to know… I want to feel it's okay to do it, I want to be sure I'm doing the right thing and I want to be sure I know what this stupid thing really means to me. I'm not giving up on you, Sammy, not ever again. And I know… I know how much I hurt you when I threw it away…"

A soft sound escapes his throat and he closes his eyes with a weary sigh, keeps his eyes closed as he continues.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that and that's why I can't just… put it back on, just like that, I have to make sure I forgive myself first…"

He exhales shakily and bends a little, puts the necklace into a small box and then places it into the glove box.

"I will get it back, Sam, I promise you that."

The glove box closes with a soft click and he stares at it for a long time before he finally starts the car.

He never notices the broken streetlight flare to life again as he pulls out of the street.

* * *

**A/N 2:** Btw, no, I am not trying to make Dean responsible for what happened between them, I am not taking a side for either of them with this story, it's merely an attempt to get into his/their head(s).


End file.
